


Soup

by chalcopyrite



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Sick!Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalcopyrite/pseuds/chalcopyrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffeeshop AU! Frank is a struggling (or maybe just thrifty) sole proprietor, and when he gets sick, he tries to keep the place open. Longtime customers and acquaintances-on-their-way-to-friendship Waybros are horrified, and Gerard gets Mikey to take over operations while he gets Frank tucked in and hydrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soup

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://yobrothatssick.livejournal.com/profile)[**yobrothatssick**](http://yobrothatssick.livejournal.com/)

Yesterday was fine, yesterday it was just a sniffle, but as soon as Frank woke up this morning he knew it was going to suck. He held it together all through the morning rush, but now the meds are wearing off, and he's just trying not to sneeze into the soymilk or something, because that's just gross. He fixes his mind on how, in just a couple of hours, an hour and a half even, he can go take more Tylenol, and the fake stuff they sell instead of Sudafed now, and just a few hours after that he can close the shop and go fall over, but really he's just kind of hoping that he dies some time before then so he can stop feeling like his entire brain is stuffed into his sinuses.

He scrapes up something like a smile as he hands over the cappuccino, but from the expression on the lady's face, he looks about as much like death as he feels. Awesome, that'll be good for business. Frank doesn't regret telling Zelma she should go home and see her folks over the break, but it'd be nice to be able to go sit down for a few without counting every minute off in his head as time he's not making towards next month's electric bill.

Whatever. Hour and a half. Meds. Die in peace.

He's busy wiping down the back counter so his germs don't get anywhere, is his excuse for being a little slow to turn around when the bell over the door jingles again. Okay, and maybe also just leaning on it a little. Take the weight off his knees — his grandpa used to say that.

"Hey, Frank."

"Oh, hey!" Frank spins around — whup, not so fast next time, the room keeps moving a little bit after he stops — and manages a real grin at the two guys on the other side of the counter. They come in just about everyday at midmorning, and sometimes in the late afternoon, and after some shameless eavesdropping Frank has figured out that a) they don't work together, but they time their coffee breaks so they can meet up; b) they really are just brothers, no matter how much they're up in each others' space; and c) the one who's not the shorter one is named Mikey. What he's learned without eavesdropping is that they always order the same thing, and that the one whose name he doesn't know has a smile that does dangerous things to Frank's knees. "What can I get you? The usual?"

The one with the smile is telling Mikey about something that's happened, complete with hand gestures, but he breaks off long enough to nod. "Yes please." He looks over at his brother. "Mikes?"

Mikey's looking up at the board over the counter where all the syrups and fancy stuff are listed. "Actually, can I get…. Hn." He looks at Frank. "Can you just add caramel to mine? How does that sound?"

Sounds kind of vile to Frank right now, but yeah, normally he'd be all over it. "Sure," he says, shrugging. "How's your morning going?"

"Pretty good," Mikey says, and Frank makes himself busy packing grounds and setting the espresso going while he steams the milk for Mikey's latte. Behind him, he can hear the story resuming, with more pauses in it now but he's betting there are still hand gestures.

Frank grins to himself a little, and then out of nowhere a sneeze hit that nearly knocks him off his feet. Between turning his head and trying to stifle the sneeze and sneezing _anyway_ , his arms jerk, and the milk jug goes flying sideways and all over the floor.

"Ah, shit."

Mikey's brother is all wide eyes and startlement across the counter. "Frank! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just — um, you mind waiting just a minute?" If he doesn't clean this up now, he's going to end up stepping in it no matter how hard he tries, and then he's going to have souring milk tracked all over the place and smelling, even if he can't smell a damn thing right now. He really doesn't want to have to mop the whole place on his own.

"Sure," the brother says, and Frank heads back to get the mop and the cleaning stuff, detouring to the tiny bathroom so he can blow his stupid nose for the forty-ninth time. He tries to ignore the silence over the background music (radio, because Zelma told him he's not allowed to play any of his music anymore, she doesn't care if he owns the place), and the feeling he's being watched. He's almost done cleaning up the spill when another sneeze ambushes him, and knocks him off balance enough that he really does fall out of his crouch and onto his ass on the floor.

"Frank?" There's two heads peering over the counter now, and wow, Frank hadn't thought his day could get worse. Sprawled on the floor in front of a cute guy, not even for any fun reason? Yeah, that's worse.

"Sorry, just gimme a minute."

"Are you — you don't look okay." He frowns, and dammit, even that's cute.

"Sure I am," Frank lies, but he's not sure he sounds all that convincing. Yeah, no, they don't look like they're buying it.

"You look like you should lie down or something," Mikey says.

Frank shakes his head and grabs onto the counter to haul himself up. "Can't." The bell jingles like it's underscoring his point. "People need coffee." He looks past them to see it's the guy with the snakebite piercings who usually comes in later. "Or tea." He starts to turn around to the shelf with jars of loose tea, but the brother's hand on his wrist stops him.

"Mikey, you have today off, right?"

"No." Mikey looks like he thinks something's funny. Frank thinks it might be him.

"Wait, what? Why does—" the brother comes around the end of the counter and tugs on Frank's arm.

"You look way too sick to be working. Mikey can take care of things down here."

"But it's my shop! It's — insurance! And I can't pay him, and—" Frank runs out of words and resorts to waving one hand. The guy does it enough himself, he oughta be able to translate.

"Don't worry about it." Mikey's somehow behind the counter, behind _Frank_ , pushing inexorably on his shoulder.

"You can't just —" Frank gives in. "Fine. I'll go lie down." He heads through the back to the stairs that go up to his little apartment and nearly jumps out of his skin when he realises the brother's followed him. "Um, I'm really going to go lie down. You don't have to worry."

The guy ducks his head. "I thought I could maybe — make sure you have everything you need?" Holy fuck, that's a blush, that's an everloving blush, and if Frank wasn't pretty sure he'd pass out coughing if he tried, he'd be making a victory whoop right about now.

"That's — that's really nice of you." Frank makes it up the stairs without falling over or sneezing again, which he's counting as a win right now, and he wrangles the key into the lock on his door on the first try. "Except, one thing—" He holds the door open for the brother, and closes it behind him. "What's your name?"

The guy looks confused. "Huh?"

"Your name?" Frank flops — carefully — onto the couch. Fuck, that feels good. He's never moving again. "You know, what you go by when you're not 'Mikey's Brother' or 'Giant Triple Americano.'"

"You remember me by my order?" The guy shakes his head. "No, of course that makes sense. Um, I'm Gerard. Gee." He does this little wave that is simultaneously the cutest and the dorkiest thing Frank's seen in, like, months.

Frank holds out a hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Frank." The end of it gets lost under another giant sneeze, but at least he's already sitting down, so the worst consequence is feeling like his head's gonna explode. "Sorry."

"I know." Gerard shakes his hand anyway. "So, um, can I get you a pillow and some blankets or something?"

Part of Frank is yelling that he's being pathetic. The part that wins points out that he _is_ pathetic right now and he should just go with it. "There are some in there." He points towards his room (not like it's hard to find in his itty-bitty apartment). "And there are some pills and stuff next to the bed, can you get them too?"

"Of course!" Gerard hurries off, and Frank can hear way more clattering than he's have thought was necessary to pick a couple boxes off a table, but what does he know.

Frank's turned around on the couch by the time Gerard comes back, curled up between the armrest and the back with his shoes kicked off. He's got all of the stuff Frank was taking, plus both pillows off his bed and an armload of blankets, with the box of kleenex balanced on top. Frank kind of wants to ask him if he's got a match, except he's not _that_ much of an asshole and Gerard's cute, and another sneezing fit has moved in, and he can't talk.

By the time his lungs sort of work again, he's happy enough to let Gerard fuss around with pillows and blankets, tucking one in around his feet and making sure his shoulders are warm and shit. Gerard disappears, and comes back from the kitchen with a coffee mug full of water. Frank takes it, and uses it to wash down the Tylenol and everything else. Whatever, it's close enough to time for the next dose.

"Is there — do you have chicken soup? That's for people with colds, right?" He looks ready to go turn birds into soup right now, if needed.

"Maybe later," Frank says. "I'm vegetarian, anyway."

"Oh." Gerard's face falls, and Frank feels a little bad for not wanting chicken soup. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I'm good," Frank says. It's almost true, even — he can feel the Tylenol kicking in, or he imagines he can, which is just as good, and he's starting to be able to breathe again. "Is Mikey going to be okay down there on his own?"

"He'll be fine." Gerard looks worried for a second, but then his face smoothes out again. "It's coffee, he'll be fine."

"Okay." Frank's too tired to argue. "I'm just gonna take a nap then, okay? You can — whatever." He blinks a few times, but when he opens his eyes again, Gerard's still standing there. "Are you just going to hover there while I sleep? Cause that's —" he sneezes and fumbles for tissues "—kinda creepy."

"I was thinking maybe I should stay?" Gerard's twitching nervously, looking between Frank and the door with a frown. "In case you need anything?"

"Dude, I'm fine." Frank manages to finish the sentence before sneezing again. "Go make sure your brother isn't burning down my coffee shop. I'm just going to sleep for a while."

"Okay." Gerard doesn't — he doesn't *pout* or anything, but he wilts a little, Frank doesn't know. It's tragic.

"Hey."

Gerard stops at the door. "Yeah?"

"If you wanted to come back later, that'd be okay."

"Yeah? I mean, yeah, I'll do that." Gerard smiles wide and bright. "I'll bring soup!"

"Sure." Frank grins back and waves him off. He cuddles down into the blankets and stifles another sneeze. Fuck the cold, at this rate he's gonna have a heart attack.

He's kinda looking forward to it, though.  


**Author's Note:**

> [This story has been podficced by reena_jenkins! Cover, streaming, and download links here.](http://reena-jenkins.livejournal.com/113976.html)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Soup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/678106) by [chalcopyrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalcopyrite/pseuds/chalcopyrite), [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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